


Mercy, Mercy

by nicasio_silang



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicasio_silang/pseuds/nicasio_silang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Destro's commentfic prompt: Dean dreams of Hell. He is 10 years old and Dad isn't due back for another week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy, Mercy

Sam lost a baby tooth today. His third. He’d been worrying at it for a week, one of his sharp little canines, and today at breakfast it sloughed off into his spoon. He didn’t even notice. Dean saw. It sat in milk and Great Value Fruit Spins. Those are like Fruit Loops, but cheaper and chalkier. Sam held his spoon in a fist and brought it to his mouth, slurped. Dean saw the tooth slide past his lips. Sam chewed, and he heard the grind, the tooth between his teeth. He coughed, spat. 

Dean got up and came around behind him. He put a hand under his jaw.

“You alright? Hey. Break anything in there?”

Sam just frowned and shook his head. His mouth distorted around the shape of his tongue exploring the gap. Dean pressed a finger and thumb into his cheeks, forced his mouth open like a dog’s. Sam squirmed and groaned to protest, grabbed at Dean’s wrist, but he was small, Dean was stronger. He needed to see.

The inside of his mouth was wet, spit froth in places, delicate, pink flesh, and damp cereal crumbs. Tongue protecting the exposed gum.

“Show me,” Dean said. Sam narrowed his eyes. He was angry, but his tongue moved.

There was a small spot of blood, bubbled up in pink spittle. The skin between his teeth was pale, taut. The new bone of a new tooth jutted out, a small ridge, cutting its way into his mouth. Dean held Sam’s mouth open and stared. It bled more as he wiggled, as he swallowed. Dean wanted to…

“Nggeeean!” Sam’s tongue contracted and rose. 

Dean wanted to press his fingernail into the fraying edge of puckered flesh and dig in. It would feel like, it would feel, it would feel like the space between the socket and the eyeball, after a neat incision across the lid. It would feel like the soft, pillow inside of a thigh that he could get his whole hand buried in, deep slice like stuffing garlic into a leg of lamb. Stuffing his fingers in and slipping them against a bone, slick, solid as a branch, gripping it and squeezing, gripping it and pulling. 

Dean wanted to press, and press until his fingertip slipped right down the root of the tooth, down to his jawbone, down to his chin, and then curl, and then pull. It would be… It would feel just like…

Sam fell out of his chair. 

He landed on his back, brought both hands up to his mouth. His eyes were wet.

"Sammy."

"Screw you." 

Sam worked his small jaw open and closed. He retreated to the bathroom, locked the flimsy door behind him. Dean could still hear him breathing on the other side. 

On the table: the tooth. Dean leaned on his elbows and pet it with his thumb. He checked it for traces of meat. It was clean, totally clean. It was slick; he felt ill. Cereal swam in his stomach. He had a dream last night of a crying man, and he did everything he could for the man, but the guy just went on crying. Dean pressed, and pressed, and it felt like, it felt like clutching Sam by the face and squeezing.


End file.
